


Mornings

by julidoesnotwrites (notjuli)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Translation Available, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22038340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjuli/pseuds/julidoesnotwrites
Summary: Morning has always been John's favourite moment of the day.A sweet little window into John Watson's mornings as an excuse for me to write plotless fluff.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 68
Collections: Sherlock Fandom VS 2020





	Mornings

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [По утрам](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22237780) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> This work is not Beta-ed not Brit-picked and English is not my first language, so if you notice any errors please do leave a coment letting me know!

Morning has always been John's favourite moment of the day. He loved getting up early and enjoying the peace mornings brought with, the earlier the better.

Mornings held different meanings for John now. They can mean different things.

Sometimes morning means getting up at two, four, or five o'clock in the morning because Rosie starts crying and he just knows he won't be falling back asleep. On those occasions he will, after making sure she's calm and asleep again, go make himself a milky tea and start his day earlier than he usually would, but it was no bother. He had never needed much sleep either way.

Other times, thankfully less now than ever, mornings would mean waking up at unholy hours of the night, trembling, sweaty, with pain in his leg and shoulder, distorted memories of a nightmare and the taste of sand in his mouth. It was not the best way to start his days, but the only thing he could do then was take a way-too-hot shower, make the strongest tea he had and try to clear his head.

On occasion, much less often now than it used to be, Sherlock will wake him up, with reasons going from practical ("John there's been a breakthrough in the case, the sister reappeared, alive and armed, we need to stop her before she finds the ex-wife herself. I've got your gun and I'm taking Watson downstairs to Mrs. Hudson's, I'll be waiting outside"), or annoying ("John I need to know what shoe size your mother was when you were seven years old and how many times a week did your third university girlfriend bought the gum she liked"), to completely insane ("John, if there were to be a Royal wedding next week and the traffic were jammed, would you rather bike through the crowd or ride in a helicopter to pick Watson from daycare, if helicopter were an option available to you and you  _ had _ to pick one?"). When this happens he will make himself a cup of coffee, try to get some food into Sherlock and he will be grateful if they have at least two meals that day.

And sometimes mornings will mean waking up at eight o'clock and getting ready for work. Boring as those mornings sound, and boring as those days may be, they are part of the routine.

But some mornings, his favourite mornings, it means waking up late, feeling warm and fuzzy, on a comfortable bed with the softest sheets he's ever felt, with his head resting against the pillow made especially for him to help with his shoulder, with a curly mess of hair buried on his chest, soft breaths against his skin, London's usual Sunday traffic as the background soundtrack, lanky arms wrapped around him and soft light coming through the curtains making the palest skin glow like gold. It will mean lazing in bed for as long as he can (for as long as Rosie stays asleep), getting up to fetch Rosie and for a cup of sweet tea only to go back to bed, baby and teacups in hand and stay in the warmth and comfort that only bed can bring for as long as they can.

And maybe those mornings will end with tea all over the sheets when they can't hold their cups straight from all the laughter, and maybe a certain baby girl will step just right on their kidneys and they'll cry out in pain (John will swear that she was made to step just on the right places because the only other thing that would be as accurate as she is with this things was Harry's cat she had back when they were teenagers, the black one with white paws that hated John and would wake him up in the middle of the night by stepping all over him in the worst places possible).

And maybe it will end up with John falling off the bed when they team up against him, or it will end up with Sherlock losing a few hairs when they get tangled up in chubby hands when playing a bit too rough, or in one remarkable occasion it ended up with a bloody nose for Sherlock when he ran into the door frame trying to get away from a tickle attack from a pair of chubby hands (or, from John's hands mostly, but don't tell Rosie that).

And John's mornings changed a lot overtime. They are not the same now than they were back in the army, or back in college, or back when he was a kid in his parents' home, or in grams' home.

And they won't be the same in the future either.

With time there will be fewer and fewer waking up in the middle of the night mornings, and there will be more lazing in bed mornings. There will be less Sherlock-related waking up at who knows what time morning and more "you are too old to keep climbing into our bed young lady" mornings (and the corresponding "but daddyyyyyyyy" response and the locking of sleep-hazed eyes and light smiles and tired nods and "just this once sweety, c'mon" and "Sherlock share the blanket, don't be like that" and giggles and happiness and happiness and happiness). And even later there will be no more waking up to the sound of London, but waking up to the sound of rural nature and crickets and frogs and birds and  _ bees _ and the sweetest, softest smiles John will ever see and that there will ever be on his face, as well as laugh lines that he (they) doesn't yet have and wrinkles that won't appear for a while yet and happiness and happiness and happiness.

But in the end mornings are, and have always been, and will continue to be, John's favourite moment of the day. 

**Author's Note:**

> I know I haven't posted in a while, not anything meaningful anyways (considering the last things I posted were either already written essays for school or translations of said essays or another plotless fluff vignette) but I swear I'm working on something a bit bigger.  
> Also, I got into like three new fandoms since I last posted* so,, maybe expect Daredevil or Star Trek fics at some point? I won't make any promises but we'll see I guess.
> 
> as always thanks for reading, feel free to comment whatever you'd like, it would make my day regardless of what it may be, and you can find me on tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thisisnotjuli) on my personal blog and [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/fanishjuli) on my fandoms blog!
> 
> *if u don't believe me check my latest bookmarks lmao


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